In need of a fix
by akanii
Summary: A little fluff after TFP. Sherlock has in fact never gone through withdrawal successfully after TLD and now, John feels responsible for him and thinks he's the only one who can really help Sherlock.Everything is okay and nothing hurts (anymore).


"She's getting better", he said suddenly, as if he hadn't been completely silent for the last two hours and as if everyone around had to be able to see his thoughts.

"Who?", John dared to ask.

"Eurus."

He said it with a roll of his eyes.

"How do you know?"

"She told me", he explained.

"She doesn't talk", John objected.

"In fact, she never shuts up", he corrected him.

"What do you mean?"

"It's frustrating, talking to you. Can't you see it? The violin, John."

Even though he'd said it like he expected everyone to think just like him, John understood.

It actually did make him feel like an idiot now that he thought about it. It was just like it was with Sherlock. He had those days he didn't talk, but played the violin instead. And you could always tell his mood from his playing. Even if he didn't play at all on such a day. They were the worst, those days he was so sad he didn't even touch his violin.

"It's still bothering you, isn't it, that you couldn't take her home?"

He didn't see the object Sherlock threw at him flying before it hit him. It was some kind of answer though. He'd always thought of Sherlock as someone very human, but the past weeks he was getting even more emotional. It felt pure seeing him in agony, because in the end Mrs. Hudson was right, she always was. Sherlock didn't work like most people thought. He was driven by emotion. John almost wouldn't have believed Sherlock to be the emotional sibling, but he knew Mycroft and he'd met Eurus. Compared to them, Sherlock was all heart. In the end that was what made him such an amazing Person.

"Was that really necessary?", John asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Obviously."

"How about tea?", he tried to change the topic.

"We're out of tea."

Sherlock didn't show any of the normal signs of withdrawal and even if he was Sherlock Holmes, he was still human and that only left room for one thought. He wasn't clean. Once you've ruled out the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And this one was especially hard to digest.

"Not working, Sherlock", John told him calmly, which had Sherlock jumping at him all of a sudden.

"For god's sake, John, why won't you just leave already?"  
He was shouting and shoving the doctor backwards.

Much to his surprise, Sherlock found himself pinned to the floor only moments later, since John had simply swept him off his feet.

"You keep forgetting that I am a soldier and you're a junky desperate for a fix. You are in no position to pick a fight right fucking now, Sherlock Holmes!"

John did this thing again, that thing he always did, in which he started off with a calm voice only to raise it towards the end of his sentence.

"You're wrong", Sherlock uttered.

"No, I am bloody right. You need supervision."

"I really don't", Sherlock insisted like a child.

"When?"

"What?"

John's question seemed so out of context that he rather not deduced its meaning, even though he'd subconsciously already done so.

The doctor lifted himself off Sherlock in order to let him get up again, but kept his eyes on the detective.

"When do you find the time to use? It sure as hell isn't on my watch, so tell me who's failing to keep you safe."

"I don't", Sherlock tried while slowly getting up and walking towards his arm chair, but John grabbing his hand stopped him in the Motion.

"Why do you always keep lying to me?"

The doctor now sounded crestfallen.

"You're lacking all bodily reactions to withdrawal. You don't expect me to believe that occasional trembling of your hands is real when you're not even moving slightly right now when you're clearly in distress."

And with that he gently pressed Sherlock's hand to remind the detective that he was holding it.

"You are aware that I have to tell Mycroft about this", he added, making it sound like a threat.

"John, I-"

"Enough, Sherlock. I've had enough of this. Of you like this", the doctor interrupted him, letting go off his hand that was now shaking at the loss of John's hold, not withdrawal.

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth like a fish. He wanted to defend himself, but in all honesty he really couldn't. John was right. He did start using again in order to endanger himself enough for John to come to his rescue, but he had to admit that he'd lost control. The drugs had always been his weakness. They were the one thing that could help him control his raging mind, or so it seemed. Because now he was far from Control.

He'd gladly accepted the drugs as a solution for saving John, without even trying to come up with a different idea. Fucking seven-percent-solution. Always got him in the end.

"John", he began, but paused to see if he would be interrupted again.

"I'm sorry."

"You goddamned better be."

And with that, he pulled Sherlock into a heartily embrace. Much to his surprise, Sherlock welcomed it instantly.

His arms found their way around John's torso. Never had he been more aware of their height difference than now. Sherlock could quite easily rest his head on John's, which he did, much to the doctor's surprise again.

Sherlock didn't make a sound, John could hardly feel him breathing and it was beginning to worry him.

"Sherlock?"

"Don't-", came the interrupted answer. John was sure that Sherlock had intended to say more, but from the ever so slight hitch of his breath at the one word he said, the doctor could tell, against all of his better judgment that Sherlock was in fact crying. Silently though, but there was no mistaking it. On his request, he refrained from asking any further questions and just held the taller figure for a few more moments, until Sherlock finally decided it was okay to let go.

The detective turned away and, without looking at him again, went for his bedroom.

Too stunned still, John let him go. His thoughts were running wild and he had to take a moment to realise what had just happened. But then a troubling thought set in. Drug addicts were masters of lying and deceiving, Sherlock even more so. How could he have been so dumb to let the detective go to a room he could lock behind him?

Panic took confusion's place.

"Sherlock!"

There was no answer, of course. But just as he was ready to break down a door he hadn't even checked was locked, Sherlock opened it.

A quick glance gave John no signs of recent drug usage, but he still had the question stuck in his throat.

"No", Sherlock told him. Simple as that.

"Oh, thank god", John exclaimed involuntarily, but he simply couldn't take the sorrow for his best friend.

"Take it away from me. Take it far away."

Sherlock handed him a neat case, there were no questions left to ask.

"Understood", John said and it was a promise.

This was an act of trust. Of course, the detective could easily have a greater stock hidden somewhere else, but him handing John the case in which he kept his syringes, meant a lot.

"I understand you're staying, then?", Sherlock asked as if the question really had been necessary.

John would not leave Bakerstreet again.

"Good. I'm going to get some rest now", he said and disappeared into his bedroom again, this time without John worrying about it.


End file.
